Has a haphazard series of calamities ever made you question your karma? Yeah … me neither.
Let me tell you about my fantastically sucktastic week.
Monday: My icemaker craps out. My kitchen is engulfed in floodwaters of scriptural symmetry. I'm not happy, but I suck it up and drive on.
Tuesday: My six-month-old dishwasher breaks. Rinse and repeat epic floodwaters. Head? Meet wall.
Wednesday: My Apple TV goes on the fritz. I'm pissed. In a feeble moment, I let loose the question that the Universe forever takes as a challenge, “What else can possibly go wrong?”
Thursday: Of course, the cosmos accepts my gauntlet and a great deal more goes awry. At about 11 a.m. I got some unusually deplorable news. After which I realize, I need more Xanax.
Friday: In order to get a refill on my Xanax, I have to go to the doctor for blood work. Yet, no doctor, no nurse and no lab tech I have met in almost 33-years can get my vein on the first go around. Generally, it takes the individual doing it anywhere between five and nine pricks before they can elicit a ampoule of blood from my limbs, and my latest exploit was no exception. I left the doc feeling like a voodoo doll and looking like a heroin junkie.
To put the cherry on the crest of my suck fest sundae, I had to take a trip to the DMV in order to renew my license. Naturally, since everything else had gone so wondrously for me all week long (note caustic attitude) that brief escapade alone took four teeth grinding, saliva amassing, nose sniveling, stinky feet filled hours.
Where am I going with this?
After hearing my tale, some might pronounce that I have a karmatic black cloud raining down on my otherwise cheerful parade. But those hoi polloi are a bunch of blockheads anyway, so I pay them no mind.
Contraptions break and unpleasant things happen to everyone, regardless of karma.
So what’s the trouble with karma?
Karma -- if you believe in such things -- influences an existential component of our lives. In other words, karma isn’t bonded to tangibles like dishwashers and car engines.
When it comes to my karma, I have no complaints. No matter what falls apart in my house, however many deluges I have to float through or irrespective of the number of times my physician looks at me sideways, I have a family that loves me. Regardless of how long I have to wait in line at the DMV or however deplorable any long-distance tidings may be, I have the best friends in the world. If I were to put my life on a scale, my "blessings" outweigh my curses 10 to 1.
So the next time something in your life goes askew and you discover yourself raking your psychic rolodex, urgently trying to solve your karmatic faux paus…shrug it off and examine the karma in your life that matters most.
Because the only trouble with karma is that it is so immensely misunderstood.
Let me tell you about my fantastically sucktastic week.
Monday: My icemaker craps out. My kitchen is engulfed in floodwaters of scriptural symmetry. I'm not happy, but I suck it up and drive on.
Tuesday: My six-month-old dishwasher breaks. Rinse and repeat epic floodwaters. Head? Meet wall.
Wednesday: My Apple TV goes on the fritz. I'm pissed. In a feeble moment, I let loose the question that the Universe forever takes as a challenge, “What else can possibly go wrong?”
Thursday: Of course, the cosmos accepts my gauntlet and a great deal more goes awry. At about 11 a.m. I got some unusually deplorable news. After which I realize, I need more Xanax.
Friday: In order to get a refill on my Xanax, I have to go to the doctor for blood work. Yet, no doctor, no nurse and no lab tech I have met in almost 33-years can get my vein on the first go around. Generally, it takes the individual doing it anywhere between five and nine pricks before they can elicit a ampoule of blood from my limbs, and my latest exploit was no exception. I left the doc feeling like a voodoo doll and looking like a heroin junkie.
To put the cherry on the crest of my suck fest sundae, I had to take a trip to the DMV in order to renew my license. Naturally, since everything else had gone so wondrously for me all week long (note caustic attitude) that brief escapade alone took four teeth grinding, saliva amassing, nose sniveling, stinky feet filled hours.
Where am I going with this?
After hearing my tale, some might pronounce that I have a karmatic black cloud raining down on my otherwise cheerful parade. But those hoi polloi are a bunch of blockheads anyway, so I pay them no mind.
Contraptions break and unpleasant things happen to everyone, regardless of karma.
So what’s the trouble with karma?
Karma -- if you believe in such things -- influences an existential component of our lives. In other words, karma isn’t bonded to tangibles like dishwashers and car engines.
When it comes to my karma, I have no complaints. No matter what falls apart in my house, however many deluges I have to float through or irrespective of the number of times my physician looks at me sideways, I have a family that loves me. Regardless of how long I have to wait in line at the DMV or however deplorable any long-distance tidings may be, I have the best friends in the world. If I were to put my life on a scale, my "blessings" outweigh my curses 10 to 1.
So the next time something in your life goes askew and you discover yourself raking your psychic rolodex, urgently trying to solve your karmatic faux paus…shrug it off and examine the karma in your life that matters most.
Because the only trouble with karma is that it is so immensely misunderstood.
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